


Feet Can Only Take You So Far

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Post War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-13
Updated: 2007-09-13
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: This was written for the LJ hhr_serendipity ficathon.  The prompt: "Harry and Hermione work together in the same department at the Ministry. Old relationships are long gone, but not forgotten and despite endless flirting, nothing has moved forward between H/Hr until a game of footsie in the lunchroom gets a little out of hand."  H/Hr romance with a bit of humor. (This is an older fic that I'm just now archiving here.)





	Feet Can Only Take You So Far

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

(Originally written on September 28th, 2005)

 

 

It had been a truly miserable day. She had woken up at the crack of dawn, due to the fact that Crookshanks had suddenly decided that her pillow was the perfect place to hack up some rather enormous hairballs. Then the hot water had cut off during her shower, and she decided that her row house in Muggle London was not the least bit “charming,” as she had first described it to be, but was instead a miserable pit of inconvenience. And then there had been her lunch meeting with the Head of Magical Law Enforcement for the European Division of the ICW, throughout which he had consistently referred to her as “strudel” and asked why she had never gotten married. The topper had been when he had pulled out the wizarding photos of his very eligible son, Hans. Eligible, that is, if you were the kind of witch who would enjoy being married to a 300 pound man with abnormally small hands, a unibrow and a penchant for growing Bubotubers.   
  
He had kept her at the meeting for so long, rhapsodizing about his son’s qualities as the perfect husband, that she was now dangerously close to being late for her Auror division’s weekly staff meeting. She groaned as she tried to hurry to the conference room, but her new shoes were pinching her feet so badly that she had to take careful steps. ‘Bloody hell, what else could _possibly_ go wrong today?’ she asked herself as she inwardly cursed the impulse shopping which had led her to buy the very fashionable but highly uncomfortable heels she had worn.  
  
As she opened the door, she flushed, realizing that she had made it just in time, as Kingsley was not yet present, and the room was buzzing loudly as the Aurors were busy laughing and joking amongst themselves. But she was the last to arrive, and her usual seat next to Harry was already occupied by Neville, who was the Wizengamot clerk newly assigned to their division.   
  
Harry took one look at her harried expression and pink face and broke out into a wide grin. He waved her over and his eyes twinkled as she limped over to his seat. “Sorry Hermione, but Neville here snagged your chair.”  
  
As if on cue, Neville immediately flushed and attempted to jump up to offer his seat to her.  
  
“No, no, Neville,” Harry replied, putting a hand on the other man’s shoulder to keep him in his chair. “That’s okay. Hermione can just sit here,” Harry continued in a mischievous tone, patting his lap and throwing a wink over at the increasingly irritable witch. “What do you say, Hermione? Plenty of witches have told me it’s the best seat in the house.”  
  
Aching feet or not, Hermione was certainly not going to let him get the best of her in this game. She simply arched her brow and quirked her lips into an answering grin. “That’s only because the women you tend to go out with resemble weather balloons on the top _and_ on the bottom. They all had so much... padding on their backsides, they would be comfortable sitting _anywhere_. A more conventionally proportioned witch, such as myself, wouldn’t be quite so excited about sitting on that bony lap of yours.”   
  
Neville looked around nervously, to see if anyone had overheard his friends’ rather risqué exchange, but he needn’t have worried, for everyone else was so used to the flirty banter that existed between the two best friends and partners that it went practically unnoticed. The formula was a simple one: Harry would suggest something outrageous and Hermione would archly cut him down to size, and then they would both laugh. It was, strangely enough, the way the two of them had discovered to deal with the stresses and tensions of the job, and each was thoroughly convinced that the other didn’t take it seriously.  
  
Harry just leaned back, and stared at her over his glasses, his grin not slipping a bit. “Hermione,” he drawled, “if _you_ were sitting on my lap, there would be whole new reasons for how bony it was, trust me.”  
  
At that, Hermione couldn’t help but dissolve into laughter, causing Harry to crack up as well, and even Neville smiled. At that moment Kingsley walked into the room, and Hermione gave Harry’s hair a playful tousle before she traveled around the table to take a seat across from him.  
  
As Kingsley began to speak about the myriad of administrative details that the meetings always began with, Hermione’s aching feet called for her attention. It might have been improper, but desperate times called for desperate measures. A relieved smile spread over her face as she kicked her shoes off under the table, causing Harry to give her a curious glance, which she innocently shrugged off.   
  
Soon enough, the meeting began to draw to a close, and Hermione carefully slipped her left foot back into its fashionable torture device. But when she reached out with her other foot, she couldn’t find the shoe right away. Keeping her face impassive, she began to run her foot around in widening circles on the floor, searching for the wayward shoe. The meeting was about to end, and Hermione became slightly nervous as she slouched into her chair so that she could reach further under the table. Her face took on a look of concentration, and she smiled in relief as she felt the toe of her shoe. She lifted her foot to try to turn it around, but unfortunately, _someone else’s_ foot was already in the shoe. Her eyes widened in alarm as she accidentally rubbed the arch of her foot across an ankle.   
  
She closed her eyes and gave a quiet groan. When she finally opened them, she found Harry giving her a tight-lipped smile, his eyes glittering as he tried to hold in his laughter. Hermione could actually feel the blood and heat rushing to her face as she blushed more than she had in ages, with Harry practically shaking as he tried to contain his reaction to her extreme discomfort.  
  
Hermione was so trapped in her own version of hell that she almost didn’t notice that the meeting had ended, and that the rest of the Aurors were already moving about to leave the room. She quickly darted under the table, only to find her shoe under her chair. She grabbed it and quickly stood up, brandishing it like a wand to Harry and Neville.   
  
“Found it!” she exclaimed in an unnaturally bright voice. “My shoe! That’s what I was looking for! With my foot! Here it is!”  
  
As Harry’s laughter exploded from him, her embarrassment began to fade and was quickly replaced with annoyance. She threw the shoe onto the ground, which only caused Harry to laugh harder, before she jammed her foot into it and stalked out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster. She left the room with the sound of his chuckling ringing in her ears, accompanied by Neville’s plaintive, “Do you think it’s smart to laugh at her like that?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Do you think it’s smart to laugh at her like that?” Neville asked Harry, the nervousness evident in his voice.  
  
Harry shook his head, trying to clear the last of the laughter out of his system. In the years that he had known her, he had _never_ seen Hermione so flustered and embarrassed. ‘Even red as a beet, she’s bloody adorable,’ he thought to himself, a more gentle smile gracing his lips.  
  
“And what the hell was all that flirting about?” Neville demanded, staring intently at Harry’s face, all the traces of nervousness gone, and instead he looked every inch the insightful young man he’d grown into. “It was like you had transfigured into two people I had never met before.”  
  
Harry chuckled as he stood up from his seat and the two of them began to walk through the hallways. “To be honest, I don’t think either of us are sure where that came from,” he answered as they carefully dodged a pack of barking Crups being herded by a harried Ministry intern. “After we graduated from our training program, we were made partners,” he continued as they entered Neville’s cozy office. Harry threw himself into the leather armchair, his long legs stretched in front of him, as Neville settled casually atop of his desk. “After the war, I think both of us underestimated the work Aurors did, and just how emotionally invested you get in this job.”  
  
“So the big war heroes thought it would be easy-peasy, did they?” Neville asked, a kind grin gracing his still-round face.  
  
“Something like that, I suppose,” Harry answered with a returning grin. “I think we were just focused on the _outward_ difficulties involved in the job; you know, the magic, the strategy and the research. The sorts of things that we’d been focused on since we were kids.”  
  
“But isn’t that what the job’s all about?” Neville asked, his eyebrows knitting together.  
  
“Yes and no,” Harry answered, his eyes glazing over slightly as his thoughts turned inward. “That’s what a lot of being an Auror is. But unlike when we were kids fighting in the war, there’s a whole emotional level that we weren’t _really_ prepared for. In the war we would fight, but others were there to deal with the aftermath. When children lost their mothers and fathers, we didn’t have to deal with that. We never had to question a young man whose bride was kidnapped and murdered. We never had to arrest a thirteen year old girl for performing dark arts rituals.”  
  
He let out a sigh and settled back in his chair, his long fingers running through his already mussed-up hair. “People always said that the three of us were forced to grow up too soon. That we were already adults when we were just kids. And we had no reason to not believe that. And in some ways, it was true. But still, we were only seventeen and eighteen years old. There was a lot that the rest of the Order kept from us. But when we joined the Auror program, the blinders came off. We had to deal with the pain of others in such a _personal_ way.”  
  
A thoughtful silence filled the room before Neville spoke in a quiet voice. “It’s strange... I’ve always seen the Aurors as such a fun group, you all are always laughing and pranking one another. I never really looked any deeper than that. I guess you have to find _something_ to deal with all that you see.”  
  
“That’s exactly it, we all need something to break the tension. We have to laugh when we can, you know?”  
  
“And you and Hermione break the tension by flirting with each other?” Neville asked, the slightest trace of sarcasm lacing his question.  
  
“We’re not exactly _flirting_ ,” Harry responded, waving his hand in the air. “It’s more... teasing. It’s just a sort of game to see who can make the other laugh first.”  
  
Neville just raised an eyebrow, the disbelief obvious on his face. “Sure, not flirting at all. Nothing like flirting. I have no idea why the thought crossed my mind.”  
  
“Please, Neville,” Harry interjected. “We’re talking about Hermione here. You know? _Hermione_ Hermione?  
  
At the look in Harry’s face, Neville couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, yes. _Hermione_ Hermione. A person who’s been your best friend for ages, is the smartest person we’ll _ever_ know and is kind to the point of stubbornness— a Hermione state if there ever was one. And, let’s not forget, her hair always smells great and she’s not too hard on the eyes.”  
  
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Just what are you doing, sniffing her hair?”  
  
Neville’s laugh sounded almost like a bark. “Sure. Not flirting at all.”  
  
“Okay, you’re right, she is all those things,” Harry finally agreed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But you know what I’m talking about,” he continued, waving his hand in the air once again.  
  
“No. I don’t,” Neville responded, in his most patient tone. “Why don’t you tell me?”  
  
“Oh, don’t be all ‘Mr. Wizengamot’ with me!” Harry snapped. “How could there ever be anything like that with me and Hermione? She went out with Ron for _three years_.”  
  
Neville just stared at him, his face pulled into a frown. “Well, you went out with Ginny, off-and-on, for _over_ three years. According to your logic, I should be concerned, right?”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh no! That’s not what I meant! It’s no problem, you two are a great couple!”   
  
Neville gave a friendly laugh and leaned forward to chuck Harry lightly on the arm. “I know, Harry. You two broke up ages ago. But you know what? Hermione and Ron broke up even earlier than you two did. So, if _that’s_ the only thing keeping you from asking her out...”  
  
“Neville!” Harry exclaimed, jumping out of his chair. “Just drop it, okay? There’s no way Hermione would ever think of me like that. We’re just friends.”  
  
Neville just watched Harry’s reaction, before finally nodding. “Of course. Sorry if I struck a nerve. But I reckon you two have been dealing with those kinds of questions since we were all in fourth year.”  
  
Harry just blinked, as if noticing for the first time that he was practically pacing in Neville’s office. “Er, yeah,” he responded, his voice sounding a little shaky, to his own disgust. “Look, let’s forget about it. Don’t Ginny and Ron get back today? Maybe we should Floo the Burrow and see if they’re up for some dinner.”  
  
Neville smiled and got up from the desk, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Sure thing. They’re always up for a night out after one of their trips for Fred and George.” Harry just nodded at Neville’s friendly tone, but Neville saw the slight nervousness in his green eyes. Neville couldn’t help but give a small grin; it looked like the young hero of the wizarding world still had a lot to learn.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Hermione gave a sigh of relief as she entered the corridor to find it blessedly free of people. As she crept down the narrow hallway to the rarely-used lunchroom, she couldn’t help but flush as the last remnants of her conversation with Neville flashed through her mind.  
  
Odd. That was the only word she could use to describe it. Both the conversation itself, as well as Neville’s strangely furtive behavior. She shook her head. What _had_ he been getting at, all those questions about her relationship with Harry? She was already embarrassed enough after the whole “foot incident” (as she had taken to calling it in her mind) the day before; the last thing she had needed was the awkward confession that Harry would never think of her in any way other than a friend.   
  
Now, all she wanted was some solitude. Yes, a little peace and quiet, which she was sure she would find in the lunchroom. After all, it was a small and dingy room in the back corridors. People avoided it with good reason. But there was a ratty old sofa there, and she had visions of flinging herself onto it and closing her eyes for a good half-hour.  
  
That vision was quickly chased out of her mind, however, as soon as she opened the door. Opened it, that is, to found Harry sitting at a tiny, dilapidated table, his mouth hanging open with a sandwich held in front of it. He didn’t seem to notice his gaping expression, however, because his eyes were completely fixed on Hermione in the doorway.  
  
She was a little pleased to see that his eyes weren’t filled with the smugness from the previous day. In fact, he looked nervous. About what, she had no idea, but she wasn’t about to let this opportunity to even out the score to pass her by. So, summoning up her courage, she plopped herself into the chair across from his and playfully waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Er, Harry? If you don’t close your mouth soon, your sandwich will wonder why you’re teasing it so badly.”  
  
“Huh? What?” he stammered, finally setting down his lunch.  
  
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, and was surprised to find that she was tossing her hair back behind her shoulder in a way that could only be defined as flirty. “Articulate. It’s no wonder that I can’t keep my feet off of you.”  
  
At that, Harry finally seemed to snap out of his funk, and a brow lifted and a grin graced his lips. “Well... you sure seemed to have recovered from the tantrum you threw yesterday.”  
  
Hermione only smiled, refusing to rise to his bait. “It was _hardly_ a tantrum. And I guess I realized that it _was_ pretty funny. After all, it was no big deal.”  
  
“No big deal?” Harry asked, leaning close enough to her face that she could see that his glasses were in dire need of a cleaning. “So you wouldn’t have another meltdown if you did that again?”  
  
“You’re not daring me, are you?” she asked, her eyes rounded in surprise.  
  
Harry chuckled. “Maybe I am,” he answered, more than a little surprised at his own daring. If he had more time to think about it, he might have blamed Neville for planting ideas in his head. But he didn’t. So instead, he put an elbow on the table and propped his head up with his hand and gave her another grin.  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, a bit of a grin ghosting her own lips. Later, she would also blame Neville for the whole thing, but all she was able to say at the time was, “I’m not quite sure you could handle it, Potter.”   
  
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but instead of a flirty comeback, his mouth was frozen into an open “O” as he felt her small foot make its way across his ankle.   
  
At his expression, Hermione fought the urge to both giggle and gloat. Instead, she just smiled serenely as she brought her instep to rub lightly up and down his ankle, just grazing his shin.  
  
Harry was sure that he had died. Because never in a million years did he ever imagine that Hermione, his best friend Hermione, Ron’s ex-girlfriend Hermione, that beautiful, smart, witty _Hermione_ would be playing footsie with him in the lunchroom. Or really anywhere, for that matter. And he had certainly never thought about how the arch of her foot seemed perfectly made to caress his ankle. And who knew that a man’s ankle could be so sensitive? He was sure that he had never heard _that_ before.  
  
When exactly his eyes had closed shut, he had no idea. But when he heard Hermione’s low whisper of “And was _that_ what you had in mind?” his heavy lids fluttered open — only to find Hermione’s face close to his own, her deep brown eyes staring intently at him, a little bit of a smile pulling at her full, pink lips.   
  
‘She’s enjoying this far too much,’ he thought to himself, wondering when he had so lost control of the situation. “Well, not bad,” he answered, coughing a bit to clear his throat. “You were definitely able to do it _longer_ than the last time, but the _technique_ didn’t really change that much.”  
  
“My technique?”  
  
“Yeah... you know, maybe be a little more... bold in your exploration?”  
  
Hermione couldn’t really believe that they were having this conversation, and that she was actually entertaining his suggestion. But there he was, sitting across from her, with a cocky grin on his face and the tiniest bit of nervousness in his posture, and that was that. “Mmmm, maybe you’re right. Maybe something like this?”  
  
Harry knew his mouth had fallen open. He knew that he was suddenly gripping the edge of the tabletop. But that didn’t seem to matter. For at that moment, the ball of Hermione’s foot had traveled up along his leg and was now in the process of circling his knee through the wool of his trousers. He suddenly wished that shorts could be an appropriate clothing option for Aurors. And why had no one ever told him about the whole knee thing?  
  
“That’s different, right?” Hermione asked, her voice ridiculously innocent as she lightly rubbed his knee, sometimes grazing his lower thigh. “I hadn’t tried circles before,” she added, as if she were discussing the ingredients to a potion.   
  
Harry knew he should respond, say _anything_ to keep her going in this most fantastic of games that they'd ever played. But all he could do was nod.  
  
“And if I were to do _this_? Would _that_ be a good _technical_ addition to my repertoire?” she asked, her foot leaving his knee as her toe just oh-so-lightly grazed his inner thigh, back and forth, back and forth.  
  
“Yessss....” Harry croaked out as his hands gripped the table top even harder.   
  
“Good to know!” Hermione cheerfully exclaimed as she suddenly withdrew her foot, placed it back into her shoe and practically bounced out of her seat. “Well, it looks like I should be getting back to work!”  
  
“Huh? Work?” Harry gaped at her as she stood up and stretched – how had no one ever told him about _stretching_ before! – then walked to the door. _The door? She’s leaving, you idiot! Do SOMETHING!_  
  
“Hermione!” he shouted, much too loudly for the small room as he struggled to get out of his chair. “Wait!”  
  
She couldn’t help but tense a bit as her hand stopped in its reach for the door knob. _Oh my good lord, what did I do? Damn that Neville! And green eyes! And grins! And... and... oh my god, he’s right behind me. Run or turn? Run or turn? Run or—_  
  
“Hermione,” he called, in a normal tone, placing a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to face him. He noted that her face was almost expressionless, but he knew her too well to be fooled by _almost._   
  
“Yes, Harry?” she asked, and he could hear her heart in her voice. At that moment, he simultaneously cursed his blindness as well as rejoiced in the moment that was about to follow.  
  
“I was just thinking,” he said, pausing as he nervously swallowed his fears. “It wasn’t fair of me to dare you, without you getting the chance to dare me, too.”  
  
Hermione just stared at him, almost trembling under the scrutiny of his gaze. “Me? Dare you?” she asked, cursing inwardly at her babbling.  
  
“Yeah,” he answered, lightly brushing one of her unruly curls back away from her luminous eyes, causing her to take in a quick breath. “Isn’t there something you would like to dare me to do? Maybe something new?”  
  
The quiet in the tiny room almost seemed to cocoon them, and Hermione felt like it was seeping into her mind, loosening her restraints one by one. She wet her lips, forcing out some words that she hoped would make sense. “New. Yes. Not feet.”  
  
Harry’s eyes twinkled and he let his hand brush her cheek and graze her lips. “Yes, not feet,” he repeated as he leaned in, tipping her head up so that her lips were placed in the most inviting position he could imagine. “Feet can only take you so far,” he murmured as he brought his mouth a breath away from hers.  
  
“Yes, definitely,” she agreed as she lifted her hand to his shoulder and closed her eyes.  
  
“Hermione...” he whispered before closing his own eyes and placing his lips softly on hers. And there they stood, hands still and hearts beating as their lips slowly moved together.   
  
Harry was sure he had never felt anything so soft as Hermione’s lips. That is, until he felt her tongue slip out to gently caress first his lower lip, wet and gentle, and then to tease his mouth open.   
  
She moaned softly as he buried his hands in her thick mass of hair, and sighed as his tongue entered her mouth to slowly caress her own. The taste of him, the smell of him... all of it was more than she had ever imagined it to be. And she could now admit to herself, that she had imagined it more than once. Her tongue began to tease his, then she pulled away, only to nibble on his lower lip, sucking it gently into her mouth.  
  
Harry groaned. Her very breath was sweet, and he suddenly pulled her against him, the passion building within him to the point where she was everything that he craved; he wanted to hold her against him, and to feel her next to him, and to taste her over and over from the inside out.   
  
She felt like she was drowning in his arms as he pulled the very air from her lungs, and she wondered if she would even be able to stand on her own power, for her legs suddenly felt ridiculously weak. But she had to make sure, to be certain, so she forced herself to pull her face away from his, needing to look into his eyes. “Harry?” she asked, breathless and nervous and hopeful as his arms still surrounded her. “Why now?”  
  
Harry took some deep breaths, trying to still his heart as he gazed on her rosy, flushed face and shining eyes. “I don’t know,” he replied as honestly as he could. “Sometimes things just _happen_. Maybe it started as a joke and a game for us, but it turned into something else.” He paused to give her a sweet and gentle kiss on the tip of her nose, causing her to give a delightful giggle. “And I’m glad it did. I didn’t expect it, but I would be an idiot to walk away from it, now that I know.” He leaned to rain quick kisses on her cheeks, forehead and chin. “Is that okay?” he finally asked, his eyes filled with an earnestness that made her knees melt anew.  
  
Hermione just let out a laugh and answered him with another kiss.  



End file.
